Blood On My Wedding Suit

Summary

Three years after college, the relentless grind of corporate life finally broke me. The eighty-hour workweeks, the micromanaging boss who treated humiliation as a management strategy—it all collapsed into a diagnosis of clinical depression. Empty and exhausted, I packed my life into a battered leather suitcase and caught a train back to my hometown.

When my mother opened the front door, there was no relief in her eyes. Not even a flicker of warmth.

"Kids these days are made of glass," she said, barely stepping aside to let me in. "A little pressure and suddenly it's 'depression.